


Echoes and Reflections

by chaotic_dumbass



Category: DnDnD (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Margarine and Zabbas are mentioned, One-Sided Father-Son Relationships, but it's pretty Juno-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_dumbass/pseuds/chaotic_dumbass
Summary: Juno is trying to fill a hole in the shape of his son.  Subtlety isn't exactly his strong suit.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Echoes and Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to Joel Arnold for creating a character I love so much that my first fanfiction in over 3 years is about a comedy DnD podcast. I was bummed that there were no works for this podcast so I figured "be the change you want to see" and all that. All of Juno's son figures die and it makes me sad. The working title for this fic was "Boy Finder, but make it Angst" so that should tell you all you need to know.

It’s hard not to see Jenna everywhere. 

It’s hard not to see him in the face of Mort as he takes the butcher’s cleaver with all of the solemness of someone triple his age and it’s hard not to see him in the way Mort throws his arms around his mother. 

It’s hard not to see him in Malik’s boundless energy and bright, easy smile. It’s hard not to see him in the way Malik gives out armour and weapons and healing and kindness like it doesn’t mean anything at all. It’s hard not to wonder, if Jena had gotten to grow older, would he have been like Malik? Would he have ducked his head when he laughed or punctuated every sentence with awe or bounced on the balls of his feet like Malik? When Malik dies it’s just hard. Something aches inside Juno’s chest, something akin to the gaping, yawning emptiness that ate him alive in the weeks months years after his village was destroyed. The benefit to losing everything is supposed to be that Juno can’t hurt any deeper, and yet he feels short of breath. 

Genevieve sobs over Malik’s slight, still form and she does not know it is her fault. And it is not her fault because if Juno had healed him in time, if Juno had been faster, been better, then Malik would be alive. Malik would sit up, and maybe kiss Genevieve, and walk back to Gaylahmathair holding her hand. He would rise through the order of Gaylahduille, because he is smart and brave and kind, and he would make good armor and save people’s lives and not die here at this beacon for no good reason at all with his future laid out shining and golden and just out of reach. Juno thinks that the similarities between Jenna and Malik are more striking than ever. 

It’s hard not to see him in Zabbas, sometimes even. When Zabbas’s face comes alive with pride and poorly concealed joy at one of his spells going successfully. Or the speed with which he lashes out defensively when it goes horribly wrong. When he is reminded of how young Zabbas truly is, that’s when Juno has to stop himself from adding the name “Jenna” on to the ends of his praise and encouragement. He always manages to though. Zabbas would hate it so much, would waste zero time in telling Juno exactly how weird that was. The fact that he knows Zabbas enough to picture exactly what face he would make, upper lip pulled and nose scrunched in disdain, sends something warm and tingling through Juno’s whole body. 

It’s impossible not to see Jenna in Tim. Obviously. Juno is far less subtle about it this time. Young, handsome, passionate about the law and adventures are probably not the most helpful descriptors but it’s hard for Juno to relay how much good he sees in Tim. The low, boiling panic at Tim’s absence crescendos when Juno sees the light being leeched out of Tim by a shadowy creature. He knows he sounds like an idiot telling Tim he thinks of him as a nephew or a step-son but the word son is as heavy as lead on the tip of his tongue and the name Jenna blazes a fire into his brain. 

None of his healing spells are working and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s hurting himself, again and again, but it doesn’t matter because Tim’s not healing and Fletch is not healing and he doesn’t know what to do. He casts Cure Wounds with the horrible sinking suspicion that his cleric abilities are gone. Maybe the shadow did something or maybe the Great Heifer decided he wasn’t deserving of them anymore, he doesn’t know. He couldn’t save Jenna without being a cleric, and he’d searched and asked for answers. Why he didn’t have those powers when he could have helped him, helped them all? Now here he is with all of the Great Heifer’s power at his disposal and he still can’t save Tim. Maybe it’s him, maybe he just isn’t good enough. He can’t help Tim as he gurgles and foams at the mouth and passes out from pain. All he can do is rock him like he would a child, like he would Jenna. All he can do is hold him as Tim’s heartbeat stutters, and then stops.

They bury him at sea. It is the oddest funeral that Juno has ever seen. That isn’t saying much, because Juno’s seen far more deaths than funerals, but this is still strange. He is sewn into a canvas sail, white cloth covering everything below his thin shoulders. It looks restricting, it looks like he couldn’t move. He knows that its childish and stupid, but Juno is worried that Tim might be claustrophobic. 

He kneels by Tim and he can barely speak. He can’t find the words and in death, Tim looks even younger. Juno is so unbelievably sorry for dragging Tim into this, however inadvertently. Juno is so sorry. This keeps happening. They die, over and over again, and over and over Juno is sorry. 

They hand Juno the long sliver needle and tell him to do the last stitch. Through Tim’s nose. Juno’s eyes are wide and his voice is incredulous, which is probably offensive to sailor culture and he’s trying to work on that, honestly, but he’s just really shocked. At home, this wouldn’t be allowed. It would be considered desecration. In his hometown, a person who died had the blood and grime washed from their face and they were left unaltered. They were dressed in simple clothes and buried with something small they loved. A wooden carving or a pocket watch or a piece of quartz. No one spoke except for loved ones, as a sign of respect, but after the ceremony they would all dance and sing.Juno doesn’t know why he finds the customs of his homeland so comforting but the idea of burial by sea so unnerving. It's just water crushing and encompassing you instead of dirt. 

Margarine guides his hand and sits by his side and it helps. She understands in a way that none of the others ever will. He sometimes wishes she would talk to him about her daughter. But other times he gets it. Losing Jenna was the biggest thing that could possibly happen, the worst tragedy that could occur, and Juno feels like he wears it on the outside of his chest. Like anyone could look at him and know, they could see him and their eyes would be drawn to this big gaping hole in his middle. But if anyone made him talk about it deeply, about more than the facts of the situation, it would break him. It would crush him so completely that he could never talk or move again. He sits with Margarine in companionable silence. Captain Orrik calls it the “journey to the deep”. At home they called it “the road to the light”. 


End file.
